


Learning to Dance on the Head of a Pin

by miusmius, tinmiss1939



Series: Detroit Become AU [3]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Angels, Alternate Universe - Angels & Demons, Angel Connor, Angels and Androids have surprisingly similar free will issues, Archangel Hank, Demon hunter Markus, F/M, Succubus OFC, her name is Ona, someone should write a gen fic AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-23
Updated: 2019-06-23
Packaged: 2020-05-16 19:09:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19324297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miusmius/pseuds/miusmius, https://archiveofourown.org/users/tinmiss1939/pseuds/tinmiss1939
Summary: Angel/Demon AU, some Franken-fic mashup of DBH and the Lore/Mythology of Good Omens, Supernatural, and Lucifer.Connor is an angel, a seraph who Banishes demons back to Hell.  His supervisor, Hank, sends him on a mission to Banish a succubus demon preying on corrupt Detroit business executives.  That succubus ends up being a lot more than Connor expects, especially when he gets himself locked in devil's snare with her overnight.





	Learning to Dance on the Head of a Pin

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Selfships-in-Spanish's female OC Ona](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/492364) by MiusMius. 



Hank, _archangel_ Hank, was smoking a cigarette in a dive bar in Brightmoor. Looking at Hank and the grime surrounding him, Connor realized he should have tried this bar first.  It was the ugliest bar in the worst part of Brightmoor. He watched, horrified, as the bartender set another whiskey in front of his superior. It joined three emptied shot glasses and an ashtray full of cigarette butts.

Connor Unveiled himself behind the bar and pulled the whiskey back. “No, you’ve had enough.  I have work to do and I can’t until you give me orders and tell me where.”

“Shit,” Hank groused, “What crawled up your ass and died?”

“Nothing, as I am not obligated to have an asshole for things to crawl into.”

“You should try more of the features of your manifestation, Connor.  Assholes are great for scratching.” Hank reached out and plucked the shot from Connor’s hand. “Let an old angel drink in peace, will you?” He downed the whiskey.

“Can I have my mission?”

Hank squinted at him.  “You used to be a lot more polite.”

Recalling their first meeting, Connor allowed himself a tiny smile. “You used to be a lot meaner,” he said.  

Hank rolled his eyes. “Remember, kid.  You asked for it.”  Hank took a deep drag of the cigarette and blew out the smoke to the side, rather than directly in Connor’s face.  That was another sign of their improved relationship. “There’s a succubus demon operating downtown, seducing business types. Send her packing.”

Details of the mission appeared in his mind, similiar to a revelation but without all the emotional baggage.  Connor blinked for a moment as he tried to process the information he suddenly, abruptly knew.  “Succubus?”  Connor repeated. “I’ve never…”  

“There’s a lot things you’ve never done before, Connor,” Hank said with a smirk.  “You’ll need to be more specific.”

His face burned at the innuendo.  Eyes narrowed, Connor said, “How does one Banish a succubus?”

“The usual ways: nicely talk her into going back to Hell or Smite her,” Hank replied.

Connor nodded once.  In her heart, however, he didn’t feel more confident about the situation.  Something felt off.  He asked, “Why this one? Is there a reason for this assignment?”  He didn’t want to think ill of Hank, but his superior did have a morbid sense of humor.

“Not this time.  This is just more ineffability.” Hank stood up then waved a hand in the Connor’s general direction. He said, “You are sort of her type, but maybe change into something more ‘asshole executive’ than ‘middle management accountant’?”

Middle management _accountant?_

Hank got halfway to the door before Connor found his voice again. “What’s wrong with my suit?”

* * *

 

On the surface, the hotel bar appeared more aligned Connor’s tastes than the Brightmoor hole in the wall. The decor was elegant.  Jazz played softly. It was _clean_.  To Connor, however, it still reeked of sin.  In this case, the usual deceit and indulgence was spiced with a hint of lust.  He spotted the demon at the bar with a female oil company executive.

Connor wondered for a moment if demons had any more choice than angels when it came to Earthly forms.  Her appearance was not very original for her job, though likely effective. She looked like post-modern day Marilyn Monroe—curly white hair, pouty red lips and curves for days.  Her tiny black dress set off both her hourglass figure and tawny skin tone. She was sipping something green from a martini glass and flirting hard with the human.

Straightening his tie, Connor took a moment to suppress his grace before approaching the bar. He ordered a scotch and soda and took a seat. First, he had to get his target alone.  A flick of his wrist sent the business women's red wine into her lap. The demon tried to turn it into a moment, suggestively wiping a napkin over the lady’s lap, but the threat to her Dior suit had largely extinguished the vain human’s desire.  The business woman babbled some apologies and ran off to the elevators.

Looking glum, the succubus turned back to her cocktail.  She swirled the green martini and took a sip. Connor looked down at his own drink, thinking through his next steps.  It had to seem natur—

A small hand landed heavily on his forearm, followed by a hip crashing into his.  He spun in his chair, just in time to catch her. Connor found himself with an armful of curves and black satin, lightly scented with jasmine.  Once she was steady, she looked up at him.

Captivating eyes that were soft and kind.  Pale green irises, almost celadon, with a touch of gold towards the center. Delicate brows arched in surprise.  A sweet smile that tugged at the corners of her lips.

Oh. She was talking.

“...rolled my ankle. It’s these ridiculous heels.  Thank you for catching me.”

Connor stuttered for a moment until he found spoken language again.  “It’s alright. It’s fine,” he said. “Are you hurt?”

“I don’t think so,” she said. She winced when she tried to put weight on her right foot. “Oh, my. Maybe.”

As he helped her on to a bar stool, Connor abruptly remembered what the fuck he was doing here.

Oh.  She was _good_.

He had known who and what she was and he had still fallen for her sprained ankle routine.  It was embarrassing. It was impressive. It was also convenient that she had made the first move for him.  Now all he had to do was let himself get seduced, get her in a room away from any human witnesses, avoid actually sleeping with her, and convince her to return to Hell.  He took a sip of his scotch to do something with his hands. The cold liquid also helped wet his oddly dry mouth.

“My name is Connor Anderson,” he said. “What’s your name?”

“I’m Ona.”

“Mona?”

“No, Ona. Spelled with an ‘Oh.’” She dragged the vowel out into something decadent and just short of obscene.  “What brings you to Detroit, Connor?”

“I’m an accountant for Lime, the software company.” He leaned in and dropped his voice lower. “We’re working on a merger with a robotics company.“ Connor sighed heavily, playing it up.  “This could be really good for my career, but I’m worried some good people could lose their retirement funds.“

Ona’s eyebrows drew together and she made a sympathetic sound.  She said, “Boy, that’s awful! Do you have any influence over the decision?”

“Some,” he said, “But I would have to go over my boss’s head.” He shook his head, like the idea troubled him too much. “What do you do, Ona?”

“I’m a personal assistant. My boss got bored with his conference and left early, so I had to stay an extra day to clean up after him. Again.”  She frowned and twirled a lock of hair around her finger. “I’m here alone. It’s my last night in town.”

Connor nodded towards the abandoned wine glass. “What about your friend?”

“What? Oh, Jane. I met her at the conference. We were thinking of watching a movie, but she has a migraine.”  Ona leaned down and rubbed her ankle, giving Connor a magnificent view down the sweetheart neckline of her dress. She continued, “With this ankle, I’m not sure what I’ll do tonight. Just go back to my room, I suppose.”  

She stood up.  Immediately her ankle gave out again and Connor caught her again, but this time she squeaked in pain.  Her Damsel in Distress was masterful and frankly entertaining to watch, but Connor didn’t see any reason to prolong the inevitable.

“Why don’t I help you to your room?” He asked, trying to play it casual. “I could take a look at your ankle, too.”

“Thank you!  That would be great,” she gushed. “Grab that bottle of wine, will you?  I think we might need it later.” She looped her arm over his shoulders, leaning on him heavily.  He put his arm around her waist, tucking her into his side. Slowly, they made it to the elevators.

* * *

 

In her room, she rummaged around her purse for a keycard while Connor steadied her with a hand on her waist. He got a cool drafty feeling, like someone had left a window open.  He looked up and down the hallway, but nothing caught his eye. The whir and beep of the electronic lock drew his attention back.

“Here we are,” she said, while opening the door.  He briefly took in the room—massive windows, antique desk, bar with several bottles of hard liquor, a very large king bed.   She gently tugged him after her, looking over her shoulder with a playful smile. He followed her inside and the door swung back to close behind them.  The lock clicked.

Ice cold water—or rather the _feeling_ of ice cold water—poured over Connor’s head and down his back.  He stumbled in shock, held to the present moment only by Ona’s grip on his hand.  The air temperature dropped to the freezing point and pulled the air from his lungs.  The walls flared with silver black symbols.

Distantly, he heard the demon gasp and felt her nails dug into his hand painfully.  “Did you do this?”

“Do _what_?  What just happened?”  Connor had stayed on his feet, but Ona fell to her knees.  

She was still holding his hand and squeezed it tightly as she said, “This is a devil’s snare.  The whole room has been turned into one. I think it activated when the door shut.” She took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, like it was painful.  “I didn’t know they affected angels.”

“They shouldn’t,” he said. It took very specific traps to incapacitate an angel.  Even as he shivered, he could feel the chill releasing its hold on him.  Despite it's effect on him, maybe this trap wasn’t aimed at him.  Ona still looked ill.  Her skin was flushed and pale at the same time.

He knelt down next to her, touching her bare shoulder lightly.  “Are you okay?” He didn’t know why he suddenly cared about her health.  Her pain and vulnerability could be a trick and yet it still tugged at something deep inside him that screamed ‘Protect!’ loudly.  

She nodded her head and threw back her shoulders.  “I’ll be alright. I just feel tired.”  She shivered as a fresh chill swept over the room.  Her nose scrunched up with irritation and confusion. “And cold, which is new.” She squeezed his hand and let go with a forced smile.

Connor took off his suit coat and set it on her shoulders.  “Stay here,” he ordered.  She snuggled deeper into his jacket and stayed put.  

He looked around to examine the symbols still glowing at the perimeter.  They circled the room to form an array that had burned itself into the walls. The base script was mostly Indo-European, with some flourishes he didn’t recognize.  He scanned the composition, looking for differences from standard snares. On one of the interior walls, a glyph that should call on the salt circling the room had been inverted; Connor could not decipher where it pointed.  Connor reached into the aether, into his personal pocket dimension, and pulled out a sword. His favorite, the Roman _spatha_ had a good reach that also worked for slashing in close quarters. He drew back to strike at the glyph.

Polite knocking on the door interrupted his swing. Connor stopped and looked back at Ona but she shrugged, looking as surprised as he felt.  He motioned for her to move back behind the bed. She shook her head. Eyes narrowed with annoyance, he pointed again. She huffed and rolled her eyes but she moved.  Connor placed a finger on his lips to ask for silence and was not surprised when she flipped him off. He hid the sword behind his back and opened the door a few inches to see a human. “Can I help you?” he asked.

A young man with deep brown skin and light eyes smiled at him. “Sir, my name is Markus Manfred.  Could you step into the hallway?” Markus dropped his voice to a whisper. “The lady you are with is very dangerous and you need to step out of the room.”

Vague and not helpful at the moment.  Connor got a dark, irritated feeling towards the man. “Well, Markus,” Connor whispered back, “that is going to be difficult.”

“You don’t understand,” Markus said urgently as he tried to peek around Connor.  “I’m a private investigator. You need to come with me.”

Out of patience with the evening, Connor opened the door a little wider, revealing the sword held low at his side.  He tapped on the barrier with the tip of the sword, setting off golden sparks.

Across the room, Ona yelped.  Two petite lavender horns popped into existence on her head, poking through her hair.  She Concealed them with a wave of her hands and a scowl. “Please don’t do that again,” she said as she patted her hair. “They make tangles when they appear like that.”

Connor turned back to a rattled Markus.  “I _can’t_ come with you.  Also, you are not a private investigator.” He threw open the door the rest of the way, beckoning Markus inside.  “I will concede, however, that there is a lot I don’t understand right now.”

“That’s a Celestial blade,” Markus said, eyes wide.  Connor watched the human’s face change from confusion to fascination.  “You’re an angel?”

“Yes,” Ona called out.  She sighed dramatically as she sat down on the bed.  “He is very much an angel. Would you mind taking this snare down so we can get on with our lives?”

Markus entered that room warily, eyes glued to the weapon.  “I’m a little confused. I haven’t caught an angel in a devil’s snare before, but I also don’t see a lot of angels dating demons.”

Ona shrieked with laughter.  Connor felt his face get hot.  He said, “We are not dating.”

“He’s trying to banish me,” Ona explained. “He’s not having an easy time of it.”

Markus’s eyes bounced back and forth between the two.  “Couldn’t he just…”

Ona shook her head, suddenly looking sad.  “I don’t think that is the way this evening will end.”  

* * *

Markus and Connor spent the next 15 minutes examining a sequence of sigils drawn with grease pencil along the base of the picture window.  Markus had exchanged several texts with his research partner, Simon, but they had only established that Simon’s comprehension of Aramaic was almost as good as Connor’s and Ona was extremely bored.  She had finished the bottle of red wine and made triple digit scores in Flappy Bird. Between rounds, she would peak over their shoulders and correct their observations. Her Aramaic and Babylonian were better than everyone’s.

“Connor!  Connor, where the fuck are you?”  A gruff voice rang down the hallway.  Hope and shame rose equally in Connor’s heart.  The voice stopped at the partially open door. “Shit, Connor, all you had—what the fuck!” Hank appeared in the doorway and immediately recoiled.  Staring at the threshold warily, he muttered, “Damn it, Connor. Now what have gotten you yourself into?”

Markus looked from the new arrival to Connor.  “Is that your archangel, Connor?”

Connor snapped out of his stupor.  “Yes! Thank the divine.” He lunged for the door, pulling it open the rest of the way. “You have got to get me out of here, Hank.”

Hank smiled thinly and looked over Connor’s shoulder at Markus. “Are you the hunter responsible for this shit show?”

Markus nodded, watching Hank closely.

“I don’t recognize you,” Hank said.  “I thought I knew all the high level hunters in this area.”

“I like to keep a low profile,” Markus said with a shrug.

“Right,” Hank nodded. “Well, when one of my angels completely disappears from all Creation, profiles get a lot bigger.”  He gestured to the trap without touching it. “This? Is fucking ugly. What the hell did you do?”

“We are still trying to figure that out,” Connor said.

“Shit,” Hank groused as he rolled his eyes.  “Are you new or something? How do you make a devil’s trap that traps an angel?”

Markus stiffened.  “Have you tried containing her?”  He jerked a thumb towards Ona, who had started making towers out of the small alcohol bottles from the minibar.  “She’s broken out of three traps this month.”

“It’s true!” She beamed.  “I did!”

“And I haven’t seen you around, so with all due respect,” Markus drawled the last word in a fascinating display of passive-aggression, “perhaps we could focus on the problem? If you want your junior Seraph back so badly, that is.”  Ignoring Hank’s glare, Markus pointed to a symbol at their feet. “The salt for the spell and the iron in the building are amplifying each other to a degree that my partner and I did not design.”

Hank squinted at the lines of text and then knelt down to examine the more intricate work over the doorway.  Connor looked as well, but frankly he wasn’t sure why Hank was focusing on that _B’Melkha_ and not any of the others.  

Hank stood up.  “You tied this into the Detroit Salt Mines, didn’t you?  That is where all the extra power is coming from.” Hank tapped on the invisible wall over the doorway. “That’s clever, but it made your snare too strong to dick around with once the trap activated. We take this down now?  It will level the building.” Hank shook his head. “Got to wait for sunrise.”

“You are going to leave me alone with a hostile, hungry succubus?” Connor blinked rapidly, wishing he could wake up from this nightmare. “All night?!”

Hank scratched his head. “She’s not—I was trying to avoid talking about this.” He sighed. “Kid, I am saying this as gently and delicately as I possibly can. All you had to do was fuck her.”

Connor jumped back, colliding with the dresser. “What?”

“No, I am completely serious. Succubi feed off grace; you know this. You probably don’t know how it happens.”

Connor shook his head, still hung up on ‘fuck her.’  He was choking on too many words to speak.

“It’s like this. Get a human in the right frame of mind, get them to orgasm, and they experience a little of the transcendent with all that oxytocin and endorphin release. They’re vulnerable in the afterglow and the demon can steal a little grace for themselves.  Human feels like crap for a few days and moves on. Angels? We have grace to spare and we can regenerate it easy. A succubus only needs to get off a few times with an angel and they are set for years.”

Connor stared at Hank, waiting for a punchline.  

Hank put his hands on his hips and stared back. “It’s worked for millennia.”

“If that’s the case and you didn’t expect me to fight her,” Connor said as he leaned in as close as he could, “then why the hell didn’t you just tell me?”

“For one, I think I was drunk.  Two, I knew you’d get all prissy if I said it out loud. I figured—I _hoped_ that as soon as you two got yourselves alone you’d…” Hank waved his hands around, trying to imply something. Baffled at the display, Connor shook his head.  Finally, Hank threw his hands up in frustration. He said, “I thought you would figure it out. Let cosmology take its course.”

“This isn’t an ice cream social, Hank!  I am not some hormonal teenaged human! I am a professional.”

Hank rolled his eyes. “Kid, you must like her.  Otherwise, you would have destroyed her on sight like all the others.”

Connor’s mouth opened and closed as he searched for words. His mind felt like it was full of nothing but cosmic background radiation. “She’s a succubus, Hank. A _demon_.  I was made to hunt her.  She’s dangerous!”

“Really?  Are you sure?”  Hank pointed to where Ona had taken a seat on the bed.  She explored the pockets of Connor’s jacket, squealing with glee when she found a chocolate mint. Hank huffed. “She’s a threat to the balance of the cosmos?”

“I...I don’t know.”  As he watched her, Connor felt even more lost and oddly sad. “Maybe,” Connor relented.  “Maybe she’s not so dangerous, but it’s still my mission.”

“Your—”  Hank cut himself off and stepped away from the door, looking anywhere but at Connor, it seemed.  “You’ve got, like, 12 hours to figure it out, moron.”

“15 hours, actually,” Ona called out, “Unless you like explosions and hate having hands. Or a head.”  

“15 hours. We’ll be back then.”

Markus interrupted from his place by the bathroom. “Hank, I’d like to discuss this Melha sigil with you. I don’t think I drew it this way. It seems to have reversed itself in reaction to this other sigil, Nura—"

“You know what, Mr. Manfred?  I’ve got a great book about Babylonian syntax that has whole chapters on Melba, Nura, and even one on Odegra.” Hank stuck his hands in his pockets and leaned his shoulder against the door frame. “It’s in the restricted section of the Sainte Anne de Detroit library.”

Markus sat back on his heels with a skeptical look, saying,  “Ste. Anne’s library doesn’t have restricted section.”

“You sure?”  Hank backed up one slow step at a time. “You also sure there isn’t an original copy of the Mithras Liturgy?”

It took Markus less than a second to make up his mind.  Markus dashed for the hall, with a short “See you tomorrow!” tossed over his shoulder.

Once again, the door closed with a soft click.  Connor stared at it for a minute, waiting for something to happen.  Nothing did. The door remained a quiet, closed door. The devil’s snare still shrouded the room. Connor remained inside.

“They could have at least brought some ice.” The clink of glasses drew him back to the present. Ona poured out generous measures of scotch.  

Connor was about to send a Divine Inspiration to one of the bellhops in the lobby, when he noticed the bottle. “You want to add ice to Glenlivet?”

“Maybe the ice is for later?” she suggested with a half smile that did _things_ to Connor’s spine. She cracked open a bottle of water and added a few drops to her glass. He nodded when she offered the same to him. Glasses in hand, she padded towards him in bare feet. “You had better put that away before someone loses a wing.”

“What?” he said, ineloquently.

“I could make a few dirty jokes first, if you would prefer.”  He stared at her. Finally, she pointed at the sword.

His face warmed right to his ears.  He knew he must have blushed a brilliant red from the way the demon smirked at him.  He shoved the weapon back into his aether pocket. He took the drink.

Feeling like a pinned butterfly under her gaze, Connor wandered towards the window. Hart Plaza stretched out 12 stories below them, indistinct in the twilight.  The lights of the Ambassador Bridge blinked cheerfully over the Detroit River, human travellers oblivious to the cosmic battles around them. Connor tasted the scotch. It was smokey and rich in all the right ways.  He swirled the glass to release the aroma and took another sip. The alcohol burned down his throat, joining an unfamiliar warmth that had taken root in his lower belly.

“I keep trying scotch, but I think I don’t like peat. The heat of it is nice, though,” Ona said.  She appeared at his left shoulder to stand next to him without actually touching him. She was a few very careful, very _intentional_ centimeters away.   Again, he noticed that without the heels she was much shorter than him—positively tiny despite her solid complement of...feminine attributes.  He recalled how well she fit under his arm when he was helping her to the room. Full hips pressed to his. Ringlets of her hair brushing his shoulder.  He shook off the memory. Right now, she was wrapped in his jacket, holding the lapels closed at her neck.

“You’re still cold?” he asked.

She downed the rest of her drink.  “It’s not as bad, but yes.” She looked up at him, batted her eyelashes playfully, and said, “You could warm me up?”  

He could fall into those liquid eyes.  “I—I don’t think—” he stammered.

“You think far too much,” she said with a sad smile.  She drifted away, towards the desk. “Tell me what you want, Connor.”

The question was absurd.  He scoffed. “I’m an angel. I don’t _want_ anything.”

“If you say so.”  She hopped up on the desk, crossing one leg over the other.  “I want to be warm. I want to feel full and loved.” She poured herself another measure of scotch, knocked it back like a shot of cheap tequila, and hiccuped.  

He found himself following her to the desk.  He nudged the bottle out of her reach. “Do you have a choice?” Connor asked, “Did you ever have a choice?”    

She looked at the bottle again but didn’t reach for it this time; she just set down her glass and looked thoughtful.  “I don’t know if I had a choice in what I am. Did you?”

Connor paused, surprised.  He should have expected that question.  It was the obvious follow up. “No,” he said, quietly.  “I could Fall, I suppose. That would be a choice...but I didn’t have a choice at the start.”

She nodded.  “I didn’t think so.”  She sat up straighter and seemed to shake of the gloom.  “Still, I can think of one thing you want.” She poked his chest with an elegant finger.  “You still have a mission—to send me back to Hell.”

“Yes,” replied Connor, feeling back on solid ground for the first time in hours.  “Yes. I want to accomplish my mission.” She chuckled. He couldn’t fathom what was funny about it and his annoyance must have shown because she laughed harder.  She was infuriating.

She sighed, a relaxed and wistful sound.  “Let’s make a deal, angel,” she said. The demon grabbed his tie and dragged him close so her mouth was brushing his ear as she said, “You give me what I want, and I’ll give you what you want.”

He wrenched himself backwards at the same time she released his tie.  Connor—seraph, warrior, lieutenant of the Eternal Citadel—stumbled and fell flat on his ass.  Ona jumped off the desk as lightly as a cat and stalked towards him, shrugging off the jacket to fall on the floor. Her gaze pinned Connor once again; this time, however, he had no desire to run.  She stood with one foot on either side of his waist, staring down at him with a concentration that stopped Connor’s breath. While he was still dazed, she dropped to her knees to straddle him and pinned his wrists to the floor above his head.  

Connor inhaled sharply as she stretched over him.  This was a tactical mistake.

The fragrance of jasmine, amber, and wood smoke filled his nose and lungs.  The scent sparked something in his veins, his skin, his groin. The feeling deepened as she hovered over him, snowy white curls of hair brushing his face.  Her breath ghosted against his cheek. She nuzzled into his neck, not quite kissing him but he could still feel her smile. It seemed like the only things tethering him to this plane were her hands on his wrists and her—her—

“Ona,” he said, voice strained.  “Ona, I…I don’t know what I’m feeling…”

She pulled back, eyes widened with curiosity. “Does it feel good?”  

Connor’s mouth was open but no sound would come out.  Her head tilted in concern while he stuttered. When he didn’t answer, her mouth curved into a frown.  She pushed back her hips so her buttocks pressed into his lap and friction lit up every nerve in his cock and balls.  He moaned.

“I’ll take that as a ‘yes,’” she whispered, grinding into him harder

“Yes!”  Connor gasped. “Yes.  It feels good.”

The friction and heat disappeared when she rolled off him. His eyes shot open (when had he closed them?) and he saw her lying on her side, head propped up on an elbow. The position pushed up her breasts so they almost spilled out of her dress.  Connor looked back to her face to see her grinning at him.

“Oh, your face is gorgeous,” she said. “I want a picture just like that!”

Connor breathed, or he _tried_ to breathe. Everything was still tight and hot.

“That feeling is lust,” she said. “It is my second favorite feeling.”

“Second? What’s your favorite?“

“Ecstasy.”

Connor stared at her, lost in a static electricity of want until one thought became crystal clear.  He was in so much trouble. The angel scrambled back, running into the foot of the bed. He considered locking himself in the bathroom, but realized that his erection was probably going to interfere with standing, let alone walking.   

“This can’t happen,” he said, “This is forbidden.”

She hummed a little, then said, “Is it though?  Is it really?” She reached into the aether and pulled out a copy of the Other Book, all the guidelines, rules, and precedents.  She tossed it at his feet. “Take a look. I’ll wait.”

Connor picked it up.  It was his copy, somehow, with all his notations and bookmarks.  He turned to the section governing General Conduct on Mortal Planes, then Conduct in Extremis on Mortal Planes.  He found protocols for Conduct Regarding Demons Attacking Humans. Conduct Regarding Humans Fighting Demons. Rules of Engagement for Adversaries, Fallen Angels, and Demons.  

Nothing.  Nothing about conduct with demon girls who just wanted to have fun.  At most, there were a few vague sentences about avoiding action “unbecoming one’s duty as emissary and guardian” and that an Angel must follow “the will of the Almighty.”  That paragraph was immediately followed by _pages_ about the inherent ineffability of the Almighty’s will.  

Maybe Hank was right?  

“Connor? Look at me,” she said.  He took a deep breath first and he turned his head to find she was now sitting on the bed now, a few feet away.  “I’m sorry for scaring you. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do and I didn’t give you a chance to chose.”

He nodded, accepting the apology.   

Her eyebrows drew together as she thought for a moment. “I would like to kiss you.”  She blushed, just a little pink that deepened her cheeks to rose gold. “I would prefer that you wanted to kiss me, too. You’re cute and I think we’d have fun, but you should want intimacy. You don’t have to…” she looked down.  Her small frown tugged his heart strangely. With a very quiet voice, she said, “I’ll go back to Hell in the morning.”

“No!”  The word fell out of his mouth before he realized it.  Ona jumped at his outburst. Honestly, Connor had startled himself.  

Watching him sideways, Ona asked, “I thought you wanted to accomplish your mission?”

That made him pause.  He moved to sit next to her on the bed while he considered that.  He wanted to complete his missions and do his duty but was that all?  Was that all he had? What if he did want—not something else, but something alongside that?  

Aloud, he said, “I don’t know.  I think my definition of ‘want’ is changing.”  

She nodded and waited for him to continue, turning to sit sideways as she watched him gather his thoughts.  It didn’t take long. One question had captured his mind.

“Would you kiss me?” he asked.  “I would like to know what that is like.”

Her surprised smile was charming as she said, “I can do a kiss.”

She reached up to touch his shoulder first.  Then she slid her hand beneath his shirt collar to the back of his neck.  Her warm touch sent a brief shiver down his back. Her hand stayed until it passed and then she drew him forward, but stopped when they were still centimeters apart.  Her full, parted lips hovered over mouth. She was so close that he could feel the heat of her breath. He could almost taste her.

Helpless, he waited while she studied his face.  

“You’re sure this is something you want?”  Her voice was small and hesitant in a way he hadn’t heard before.  

“Yes,” he whispered against her lips.  “ _Please_ —”

She kissed him.  It was a light touch, a gentle friction.  He pressed back into her lips and it soothed an ache he didn’t know existed.  Too soon, she retreated. Her thumb swept across his mouth, removing a smear of lipstick.  The drag of her thumb on his already sensitized lips rekindled that ache. It sparked through his veins to land restlessly in chest and belly.  Connor realized he had a word for it—desire. He didn’t think he was built for desire.

She looked at him through heavy eyelashes, a question in her eyes and the tilt of her head.  Connor nodded. She leaned in to kiss him again but he got there first. He sighed. Ona parted her lips as if to taste the sound and her tongue swept through his mouth.

Connor reached out, needing to hold on to something. His hands found her waist and he pulled her closer.  Ona did one better—she hiked up her dress to straddle his hips. His kisses became clumsy and wet. The nebulous warmth in his core seemed to open and deepen, becoming a need.   

Connor palms drifted from her waist to her hips.  Beneath the silk of her dress he felt her round backside, her arched back.  Every caress brought some satisfaction but also a need for more. He wanted to taste her skin and hear her whine and moan.  Holding and touching and even kissing were not enough.

He broke away from her mouth to plant kisses on her cheek and neck.  Her breath hitched when he sucked on the skin below her ear.

“You learn very fast,” she said, voice breathy and strained.

He dragged his teeth along her earlobe and relished the gasp that escaped her throat.    “Show me more,” he whispered. “I want to please you; show me how.” He caressed her breast, entranced by the weight and soft skin at the neckline.  She leaned into his hands and he felt her nipple firm up against his palm. His other hand found the zipper of her dress but he hesitated.

“Yes,” she said, reading his intentions like she was reading his mind.  “That’s good. Yes.” Her hips rolled against him, just to emphasize the point.  The friction brought him to a full erection in a heartbeat. He was lost to the intensity of the feeling until she brought him back to the present by squeezing his ass. He pulled down the zipper and she shrugged out the dress’s bodice.  Connor froze, transfixed.

The dark violet of her bra looked like an engineer’s wet dream. Narrow, interwoven straps and gossamer thin panels somehow supported and revealed at the same time.  Curious, Connor lifted one of the many, _many_ straps.  He was surprised that it was under tension, as the band seemed too fine to be anything but ornamental.  It slipped from his fingers, accidentally snapping back at her skin.

She slapped at his hand.  “Hey! That hurt,” she said.  She shoved him so he fell on his back then pulled off the dress entirely.  Her pout flipped into a coy smile as she looked him up and down. “You’re supposed to ask first,” she teased.  

Connor rifled through 3000 years of memory.  “Safewords?” he said, tentatively.

Almost purring, she said, “Clever angel!”  The light in her eyes was thrilling.

Feeling brazen, he grabbed her wrist and pulled her down.  She laughed as she fell into his arms. Connor found himself grinning up at her and her enthusiasm.  Impulsively, he dragged a finger down the length of her spine, delighted when she yelped and squirmed on top of him.

“Oh, are demons ticklish?” he asked. His fingers danced over her belly and sides.  Over her indignant laughter, he said, “That’s unfortunate.” She wiggled her hips left and right in a way that Connor found extremely entertaining as she tried to get away from his roaming fingers.

Between shrieks of laughter, she yelled,  “Don’t you dare start something you can’t finish!”  Her hands found his hair and ruffled it into a tangled mess.  He chuckled at her revenge and stopped his attack to let his hands rest on her full hips.  For a brief moment, she relaxed in his arms while nuzzling into his cheek. Every curve and contour of her body pressed into him. It was a delightful, sweet feeling.   

The nuzzling turned into wet, open mouthed kisses on his neck that took his breath away.  She started unbuttoning his shirt, kissing her way down his chest. Anticipation grew with each caress and nip. He sighed at her warm lips and sharp teeth.

Between kisses, she said, “What you should do now,” she sucked a hickey just below his collarbone, “is touch me,” she blew cool air over a nipple until he trembled, “everywhere you can.”  She finished by unbuttoning his trousers with her teeth. She looked up with a very satisfied, very smug grin. “Everywhere, Connor.”

If she wanted to give him orders, Connor was happy to complete a mission.  He hauled her back up and flipped them over in one movement, pleased at her surprised giggle. She helped him shrug off the Oxford shirt then pulled him down to wrap herself around him.  Her thighs opened to cradle his hips and she curled a leg around him, drawing him in and grinding upwards. Connor slipped his hand under the silk of her panties to palm her ass.  Skimming up her spine, he found the clasp of her bra.  She arched her back to give him room to work it open, but Connor was done wasting time so rather than fumble around he miracled the bra and panties across the room. He expected her to tease him for that, but she was busy biting his earlobe and thankfully she either didn’t notice or didn’t care.  

He pushed back to look at her—small waist, soft belly, full breasts that shifted as she breathed—before leaning down plant a kiss between her breasts.  Spoiled for choice, he picked one at random and sucked a rosewood colored nipple into his mouth. Her wanton moan went right to his dick. He moved over to her right, teasing that breast with nips and licks while fondling the other with a firm touch. Ona’s little sighs took a needy tone as he tongued her nipple. Pleased with her responses, he moved back to kiss her open, panting mouth.  

He was enjoying the taste of her tongue when he felt her hand reach down into his boxers to grasp his cock.  Her touch was light but still brought a shock of pleasure so exquisite he groaned and let his eyes fall closed.  On instincts that he shouldn’t have, his hips thrust into her grip. Her fingers stroked down to his base and moved to his balls. Light teasing became deliberate massage that stroked up and down the length of his cock. Lost in the pleasure, he buried his face in her shoulder even though didn’t at all muffle his desperate whining.  “Don’t stop, please,” he moaned. “I’m— _please_ —"

Her free hand fisted into his hair and wrenched back sharply, forcing him to look at her.  Her flushed cheeks and hungry eyes should have screamed danger but instead she was transcendently beautiful.  She twisted her hand over the head of his cock and everything disappeared except that exquisite sensation. His orgasm rushed through him, bright and hot.  His wings unfurled as his back arched. With a final groan, he collapsed into her arms.

Connor was left gasping and spent.  The first thing he recognized was his wings really had appeared and the second was that he didn’t give a fuck. As he rolled off her onto his side, he also noticed she was glowing, a faint violet shimmer that faded as she breathed in and out.  

She turned to look at him as she stretched her arms over her head. “You did so well, angel,” she whispered.  She reached over to pet one of his wings where it had folded around them. “Soft,” she said with a smile. “These are why I thought we should have you on top.  I knew they would be big.” She stroked down one of his primary flight feathers. “They are lovely.”

Her gentle touches made him shiver with a new rush of pleasure—tempered and gentle, rather than the urgent feelings previously.  “They can get in the way, sometimes,” he said modestly. He folded the wings back into a celestial dimension and pulled her into his arms.  With his forehead against hers and their noses nuzzling against each other, Connor let his hands roam her back and waist. There was a feeling of calm and contentment he hadn’t known before.

"So, angel," Ona purred and she snuggled deeper into his arms. "Are you ready for Round 2?"

**Author's Note:**

> I kind of want to make a part two, but I can't say I will and then this turned into a stopping point. Thanks for reading! Comments are like chocolate!


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